Giddy
by Ly Merrick
Summary: Rachel Berry is HBIC, Head Cheerio, and the absolute epitome of popularity at McKinley High School. Santana Lopez is head bitch in her own right and hangs out with the Untouchables, a group of kids who could give a shit – she's just kind of secretly crushing on the HBIC.
1. For Abuela

**Title: **Giddy

**Pairing:** Rachel/Santana

**Synopsis:** (1 of 8) Rachel Berry is HBIC, Head Cheerio, and the absolute epitome of popularity at McKinley High School. Santana Lopez is head bitch in her own right and hangs out with the Untouchables, a group of kids who could give a shit – she's just kind of secretly crushing on the HBIC.

**Author's Note: **Okay, so I found a really cool song by Esperanza Spalding and the lyrics kind of inspired me for the story behind this fic. A while back I took an interest poll on doing a Cheerio!Rachel fic and quite a few seemed to be interested in it. So here's one of them at least. This will be an 8 chapter fic. Hope you love it!

###

**ONE**

_Love me or leave me but please don't deceive me_

_And say you love me how I am_

_You love the way I fit some ideal_

_Not the real woman you've yet to understand_

_See love ain't all heaven, and I am no angel_

_But I do the best I can._

###

"Shut the fuck up, Squeak," Santana grumbled and waved the cigarette smoke from her face. "I don't know if you realized this but no one actually gives a shit about who you screwed under these bleachers."

"What's your problem, Boss?" Toad, one of the other Untouchables had just hopped over the fence back into the schoolyard.

"Sick of listening to you guys talk about the same shit every day," Santana rolled her eyes at Toad. "I mean you could try to be remotely fucking interesting."

Squeak frowned, "Harsh."

Their group consisted mainly of the three of them. Squeak was a girl far too skinny for the clothing she wore. Toad was a hopeless thriftier and kleptomaniac with green hair and a penchant for torn plaid shirts. Santana was the head bitch of this outfit, even if Rachel Berry ran the whole damn school. The Untouchables remained out of her reach. As long as Santana Lopez had gone to school here, Rachel Berry had everyone licking her Cheerio sneakers.

She wasn't one of those super-bitches you saw in movies, the cheerleader on a power trip. Granted, Rachel Berry was on a power trip but she was the "model" student. Super intelligent and better than anyone else at _everything, _she wasn't really that mean. She was nice to everyone – besides the delinquents like Santana. Sure, she was probably different behind closed doors but Santana hadn't gotten that chance. (Granted, usually when Santana got girls behind closed doors there wasn't a lot of time for psychoanalysis or … conversation.)

Arching an eyebrow at the promiscuity of her thoughts, Santana chuckled. "I'm just… look, I'm fucking bored. It's the same shit every day. I'm about ready to start doing _homework, madre los dios. _You know what I mean?"

Squeak and Toad nodded in general agreement.

"Eh, whatever man. I'm gonna clear out. And Squeak quit puffing that fucking smoke at me 'cause I'm tired of spraying fucking Febreze. You know how _abuela _is when she catches the smell on me."

"Oh, Santana, the great big badass is afraid of _abuelaaaa._"

Santana pointed a stern finger in Toad's direction, "Don't make me get Kindness out."

Squeak laughed, "I got you. Kill 'em with Kindness. No more smoke in your face, Boss."

"Plus I don't wanna get cancer, sicko," Santana murmured the last bit as she headed away from the bleachers, pulling her hood over her head; her black ponytail wrapped around to the front of her neck and hung down the middle.

McKinley blew. Ohio blew. It would be her luck that the largest Puerto Rican community her _abuela _could find was here. And yet … somehow, 95% of McKinley's population was white. Imagine that. No culture. Fucking wasteland.

As she entered through the back door, she waited for a crowd before she let herself in, figuring she could blend in enough to not be seen by a teacher. However, as she snuck in she felt a strong hand grip her by the arm.

"Well, if it isn't Most Likely to Be on America's Most Wanted," Sue Sylvester pulled Santana to her side, patted her back, "where's your little group of criminals? I hope you know this is the third time this week and we both know what that means. Time to visit the Principal's office. You should have his entire library memorized with how often that tan little face of yours has to stare at his bookshelf. Are you two on first name basis yet?"

Santana groaned and tried to pull out of Sue's grip but it was a futile effort as she was dragged down the hall, "_Bruja, _you could at least let me walk on my own."

"I'm not sure you know how since you can't walk to class most of the time. I think you might have a directional problem."

Santana was shoved into the office and nearly toppled Rachel Berry over. The Cheerio was just leaving Figgin's office when Santana was pushed through. Though the Cheerio was slightly shorter than Santana, she was certainly to be reckoned with.

"I never!" Rachel huffed. However, upon seeing Sue Sylvester behind Santana a moment later, she brightened up, "Coach! I see you're keeping our hallways clean of _trash,_" she stated in a haughty was, stepping clearly aside from Santana and giving her a dismissive look.

"Ah, my little star Cheerio," Sue perked up, patted the girl gently on the arm. "I've got to go get some grants for class five explosives. I'll see you girls later."

Santana scowled from one of the chairs, having basically tripped into it when she'd panicked at running directly into Rachel Berry, HBIC and model citizen.

"Santana Lopez," Rachel cooed Santana's name as Sue closed the door, folding her arms over her petite torso and eyeing the Latina. "Why am I very not surprised to see you in here? What act of delinquency have you committed this time?"

"Leave me alone," Santana spat, although she was taking marked interest at the tanned thighs disappearing under that skirt. "Unless you really wanna see what it's like to be pinned to a wall," the double-entendre made Rachel's eyes widen comically. Santana swore she saw a blush crawl up the HBIC's neck. "I can make that happen, sweetie."

Bewildered, the diva stomped a foot and turned on her heel, leaving the office. When she glanced back however, Santana grinned and blew her a kiss through the glass.

"Santana," Figgins had this way of saying her name that made her cringe.

"Commandant," Lopez sighed, rising and following him in. "I don't know why I'm in here. I was just walking down the hall and Sylvester grabbed me."

"I'm certain we both have been in this situation far too often to take that to be the truth," his bushy eyebrows knotted together. "Detention."

"_Que supriso,_" she mumbled and stood, "Is that all?"

Figgins waved a hand at her, as if he had better things to do, and the Latina took it as her chance to leave. She supposed she'd have to actually go to class this afternoon then. She hated that. That's probably why she was failing but really, she was better at fixing cars than graphing algebraic formulas.

When she made it to class, she didn't have any books but her attendance would count. She took the last seat, realizing she'd only been to this class four times this semester and it was nearly winter break. What she had failed to realize was that Rachel Berry was in this class, too. The Cheerio stood out – dark brown locks, headband, bleach-white sneakers and long tan legs. Santana smirked to herself and sunk down in her seat a little, letting her eyes linger on that impatient, bobbing leg. Those muscles, man.

Rachel must have noticed someone watching her, because she turned around and caught Santana staring at her. Despite her effort to make Santana feel guilty, the Latina only arched an eyebrow and winked at her, licking her bottom lip suggestively.

It was hard not to laugh at the HBIC; her blush matched the red of her Cheerio uniform by the time she realized Santana was obviously not intimidated and not in the least bit shy about sex. Rachel was her polar opposite: she was president of the Chastity club or whatever the fuck it was, involved in every single organization including Glee. She was Head Cheerio, part-time tutor, and front-runner for eventual valedictorian.

Santana could have cared less about any of that; while she had a fantastic and sultry singing voice (if she didn't say so herself), she wasn't one for the whole kumbayah scene she'd seen going on with those Gleeks.

_Trash, _Santana thought to herself. _I'm far from trash. Sure, I don't give a shit about anything but that doesn't make me trash. Just makes me … open for different opportunities? _

She didn't know anything that was going on this class, really. When she paid attention, she was more than a little confused.

_Should've skipped. _ And after all these classes, she still had to go to detention tonight.

Santana sighed, shifted in her seat and stared out the window. The down side to the whole teenage rebellion scene was that you tended to disappoint family. The Latina only had one family member that mattered – her _abuela _was her whole world. The elderly woman had practically raised her granddaughter. Santana's parents ditched out when she was still in kindergarten.

###

Detention consisted of sitting in an empty classroom with William Schuester jamming out to Journey tracks. To be frank, it sucked. When Santana finally ducked out, she had never felt more grateful for silence in her life.

At least until she walked by Glee's practice room. She heard a voice, accompanied by piano, singing a song Santana couldn't name. The lilting tones and the perfect pitch of the voice were like a siren-song. Who the hell would voluntarily stay after school?

Out of curiosity, Santana poked her head in the slightly darkened room. Cheerio uniform and dark hair. Rachel. Rachel played piano perfectly and sang like an angel. _Must be nice to be perfect._

Finally, she recognized the song. Ironically, it was actually "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan. Having a good ear for music, Santana could tell that there was immense talent in that voice. Why would Rachel waste all her time in things like Cheerio Squad and tutoring? She could have a career in singing alone.

Santana forgot she wasn't supposed to be standing there. She was just inside the doorway, listening, totally entranced. Something inside her stalled, stopped, maybe it was her heart. Sure, she'd heard glimpses of Rachel singing in a group but she'd never heard anything like _this. _

_Christ, _Santana nearly said this aloud. She reminded herself not to, not wanting anything to stop the beautiful voice from rising. She wanted to be a part of this person's life, this person that was singing. Not the model citizen, the perfect face shown to all of McKinley. She wanted to know the person that was singing right now, alone in front of a piano. This was a human being. This wasn't a mask. She suddenly felt she was viewing something starkly private.

As she went to back out of the room, she somehow managed to knock over a stand. It clattered to the marble floor about as loud as anything was able to, and Santana knew what it was to want to die. She had fallen on her ass and managed to reveal that she was eavesdropping on Rachel Berry's beautiful music session. "Shit," Santana groaned, dropping her head against the marble and closing her eyes, waiting to be scolded. She waited, and waited, only to open her eyes and find the short-statured Cheerio staring down at her. "Sorry?"

"Right," she rolled her eyes. Rachel reached down and offered her hand, much to Santana's surprise. The Latina hesitated before taking the warm offering, pulled herself up with Rachel's help and righted the stand.

"I didn't mean ... I mean obviously I meant to listen. I didn't mean to get caught. You can't blame me though 'cause that shit was fucking … amazing."

Rachel's eyes narrowed a little bit, "Thank you. I think." She straightened her Cheerio outfit. "You can go now."

Santana was surprised at the authority in Rachel's voice, although not really when she took time to think about it. "Yeah.. uh.. yep." She couldn't have left the room quicker if it was on fire.

###

Abuela was sorely disappointed in Santana and she made it known. Frequently. However something in Santana actually responded this evening, unlike usual. Seeing Abuela full of such obvious concern and guilt over Santana's delinquency made her feel like shit.

"I'll get a tutor. I'll try to be better, _abuela, _I just .. I have a hard time. I get bored really easy."

"Because you're smart," Abuela tapped Santana's head softly. "I've always told you that. You should've been in a higher grade but ah," the older woman sighed and hugged Santana to her. "Try. For me. I worry about you."

Santana went to bed that night feeling a mixture of awe (from one Rachel Berry) and guilt (from her dear grandmother). New days were hard to start, especially when it meant making a complete turnaround from old habits.

###

Figgins had practically laughed in her face when she asked for a tutor to help her catch up for classes. When he realized Santana was serious, he called in two of Santana's teachers and kicked her out of the room. They'd huddled together like they were trying to solve world hunger.

A half an hour later, after lunch was over and likely Toad and Squeak were wondering where the hell she'd been, she was still waiting in the office for the solution.

Santana watched Rachel as the door opened and she appeared, the Latina's eyes following with a cat-like subtlety, remembering the sound of her voice in that choir room last night, and a modern day siren. It was hard not to say something as she walked by. The shorter girl glanced back at Santana and caught her eye briefly; there was no acknowledgement in the negative or positive. The raven-haired Latina straightened her posture and tried to play it cool, watching from the corner of her eye.

Figgins opened the office door only a moment later, "Miss Lopez, join us please."

Santana stood, moved through the open door and felt Figgins close it behind her. Rachel was seated in one of the chairs opposite Figgins, her legs crossed and her quiet brown eyes glancing over at Santana. "Did I do something? Is this about me skipping out on the last five minutes of detention because Schue fell asleep – " she lied through her teeth, panicking that Rachel had ratted her out or something as revenge for the night prior.

"You need a tutor," Rachel cut Santana off, widening her eyes in a way that suggested Santana quickly shut the fuck up before she got herself in trouble. "I happen to be a good tutor."

Stalling, the Latina glanced between Figgins and Rachel, "Oh, right, like you wanna tutor somebody like me."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"You're like… Miss fucking Perfect –"

"Language," Figgins barked.

"Sorry. Rachel Berry is Miss Perfect and I'm about two violations from being expelled. Not to mention I'm not exactly the type of people you normally associate with."

"It's a job. And it's one I'm good at."

"I don't need someone tutoring me who doesn't want to do it," Santana didn't know why she was bucking against this so much. She would love to have Rachel tutor her, she admitted to herself secretly. The fact is, she was embarrassed Rachel knew she needed help or _wanted _help and she felt a little wounded pride.

Rachel simply stood. Despite standing a couple inches shorter than Santana, she stood toe to toe with the girl in terms of intimidation factor. She moved close enough to demand Santana's full attention, "You need help. Don't let your pride get in the way here. I wouldn't agree if I didn't think it was something worthwhile."

"Oh so now I'm charity?"

Figgins let them work out the issue, though he looked a little nervous like Santana might fly off the handle.

Rachel seemed to be losing her patience. She covered her eyes momentarily, her dark bangs falling over her fingers. "Santana," she stated the Latina's name almost softly, in a calmer tone. "Do you want a tutor?"

Feeling soothed and tamed at the sincerity in Rachel's voice, Santana nodded.

"I would like to help you, if you'll let me."

Respect. Rachel was giving her respect. "Yeah. Just… don't … go telling any of your Cheerio buddies. You and me … we don't know the same people. I keep to myself for a reason."

The brunette shrugged a shoulder, glanced at Figgins, "I appreciate you thinking of me, sir," Rachel stated kindly, "I'm glad you asked me first." A little bewildered at Rachel's words, the idea that she was grateful to be tutoring her, Santana merely stared. Apparently sensing Santana's inability to process, Rachel cupped Santana's elbow gently and guided her out of the office. Her hands were soft, warm, her fingertips gentle as they pressed. "Your phone?"

Santana raised an eyebrow then realized what Rachel was asking. She took her cell phone out of her pocket, and Rachel took the liberty of snatching it and entering her phone number.

"Text me this evening," Rachel requested softly. "If you're free I'd like to meet tonight since I don't have practice or voice lessons."

Santana shrugged, attempting to appear calm and collected when really she was feeling quite a multitude of reactions. As Rachel walked away, those long legs and lithe figure disappearing between bodies and down the hall, Santana could only watch with fascination at the turn of events.

The thing was, Santana considered herself pretty much a badass. She could beat the shit out of anyone. She didn't trust many people, and she cared about far fewer people than she trusted. Something about Rachel Berry stuck in the back of her head though. Maybe it was just hormones and the fact she had a bangin' body, but there was something else too.

Maybe Rachel wasn't all she pretended to be. It was possible they had more in common in that way; Santana had to put on a tough outer shell to keep people out. She didn't like people in her head, didn't like anyone figuring out why she did what she did or telling her what she did or didn't feel.

Maybe Rachel was similar. Maybe she pretended to be what everyone wanted because they asked her less questions that way. Rachel may have spotted Santana's mask the way Santana spotted hers.

Of course, Rachel had everything going for her. Santana didn't. There was a little envy in her fascination for Rachel Berry.

The rest of the day went by fairly quickly, and all the while she would tap her fingers on the outline of her cell phone through her jeans, thinking about the fact that she had the hottest girl in school in her phone. There was a smug satisfaction in it. Mixed in there was a little bit of anxiousness. What would Rachel be like outside of school?

Whatever. She'd deal with the situation alright. She always did. It's not like it was a big deal. Rachel was just tutoring her, there was no reason to expect there to be some change in their social interaction. That would make it easier for Santana to be the same person she'd always been to everyone else – totally detached and sometimes hostile.

###

_Hey. It's Santana. – S._

_I figured. Are you free this evening? – R*_

_Yeah. Just need to tell my abuela. Time and place? – S._

_My fathers are happy to have you over. – R*_

_They don't know me very well then. – S._

Rachel seemed to disregard the text, because she merely texted her address and the time Santana should arrive. She didn't respond to the self-deprecation on Santana's part, and it made the Latina wonder what Rachel really thought of her, if she had even noticed her at all in their time attending the same school. Until the night prior, they had never really run into each other. Santana was usually skipping class or under the bleachers, and Rachel was HBIC and simultaneous super-genius.

Rachel wanted her to come over in the next 30 minutes. It was pretty early in the evening, so either Rachel wanted to get this over with as much as Santana did or she genuinely wanted to help Santana out. She certainly hadn't made any of this difficult so far or seemed hostile at all. She'd always just totally ignored Santana's existence other than to throw the occasional insult or reminder of her disapproval of Santana's choices.

"Stop fucking overthinking," Santana cursed aloud, unraveled her mp3 player, and started walking. Rachel lived in the suburban area of town, and Santana lived nearly 20 minutes away in the largely Puerto Rican neighborhood that consisted of about four blocks. She dialed the house phone; Abuela would be out playing dominoes with a few of the neighbors and having some beers.

"_Hola, _Abuela, I just wanted to let you know I'm starting with my tutor tonight. I might not be home til later this evening. I'll eat when I get home. Call me if you need anything," Santana left the message and hung up, slipping her phone into her pocket. She put both earbuds in and pressed play on the mp3 player, glad for the sound of violin that poured out.

So what. Santana Lopez liked violin. It's not like she was going to openly share that with anyone. The fact is, she'd learned how to play violin when she was little and had a beautiful one at home she hadn't touched in a couple years. She had been on her way to something impressive, already having been picked out by talent scouts and scouts for music schools.

Santana wasn't a school kind of person. She wasn't an anything kind of person, not for some time. A part of her had grown dispassionate and detached from most everything, all except for her _abuela._

Music streamed and Santana followed it in her mind, swallowed up in the sound. Music was her piece. Violin concertos soothed her all the way down to her bones. Not even her "best friends" Toad and Squeak knew of her secret love. Maybe that's why she'd been so fascinated to hear Rachel singing; there was something magical about music.

The Latina checked her text, double-checked the house number, and took a deep breath as she took her headphones out and turned her mp3 player off. Staring up at the beautiful household, Santana hoped this would have as little awkwardness as possible. She didn't expect to have a _suuuuper _fun time studying, but she just didn't want it to be awkward or something shitty like that.

Her feet found their motion and she headed up the front steps, knocking on the door and slouching a shoulder back as she looked around the property. They had a modest house, a little better than the one she lived in, but part of her had just expected Rachel to be richer. Maybe because often power came from money, and money bought you popularity.

It could've been that Rachel was just popular because people liked her. At least, liked her for who they thought she was. The Latina still had a sneaking suspicion there was more to the school's sweetheart than she let anyone see.

"You're here," Rachel opened the door, her words startling Santana as well as the smile on Rachel's face. It looked genuine. "Good, good," the brunette bounced a little, then motioned for Santana to come in. "Now, Figgins disclosed nothing of the grades you're dealing with but he did give me an overview of where we needed to start."

"Alright," Santana gave a little nod as she was lead through the house. It was nice inside. There were pictures of the happy family everywhere, Rachel when she was little, Rachel with balloons and cakes, Rachel on stages, Rachel with awards. "Look I appreciate you doing this. I know it's probably weird 'cause – "

"Why would it be?" Rachel asked, genuinely perplexed. "I think you've watched too many teen movies."

"What?"

"Just because I'm head Cheerio and I've got people that like me, it doesn't mean I'm … superficial or a bitch or … I mean, I've said a few things that were unkind before."

"You called me trash," Santana grumbled and glanced around. This caused Rachel to stop in her tracks, as if recalling the moment.

The Cheerio's long dark hair was tucked behind an ear as she faced the Latina. "I'm sorry. I did, you're right. I've said unkind things and I'm sorry. I just … I've had bad days, and I suppose it's … no. Let's go upstairs."

Santana quirked an eyebrow, mildly surprised at the honesty and the apology. "I mean it's no big, it's whatever you know. I know how people see me."

Rachel didn't respond. Maybe she was upset. Santana felt suddenly insecure as she followed the shorter girl into what was apparently her bedroom. "I don't see you that way. Not the way you think people do. I mean sure," Rachel closed the door behind them and motioned to the bed, offering a seat to Santana and then sitting down at her desk, "you skip class. You do things that I could never do. You … don't seem to care about what other people are thinking."

The Latina watched Rachel with a guarded expression; she listened to the sound of sincerity in the Cheerio's voice, the sound of what seemed to be some kind of confession.

"I envy your freedom. I envy that you seem not to care, that you would rather live according to what you believe and what you want as opposed to the things people want you to be," Rachel glanced up, watched Santana. "You may have troubles in school but you know a kind of freedom that I might never know."

Santana stayed quiet, contemplating what Rachel was saying. The shorter brunette was fidgeting a little, staring at her small hands. Those soft hands.

"Well, anyway. My point is I don't see you in a bad light. I just want to help you get better in school. So, shall we?"

Santana nodded, still silent, as Rachel Berry sat beside her and began their first lesson together.

###

Rachel's laugh was the best sound Santana had heard. By the end of the evening they were discussing things completely off topic (although Santana had actually started to learn quite a bit), laughing once in a while, and Santana felt a kind of giddy joy welling up inside her.

More than once, the Latina found herself smirking at Rachel Berry and watching her as she wrote some note down or something for Santana to keep in mind while studying. She didn't think they would actually get along, but the thing is she was really enjoying herself. Rachel Berry wasn't all gumdrops and rainbows; she had some depth and a sense of humor. She was also some kind of super-genius, Santana was convinced.

At one point she even had Rachel laughing so hard the brunette had covered her mouth to hush her up. It felt good for some reason. They kind of … clicked. Surprisingly.

"So, you've been in trouble a lot growing up?"

Santana took the notebook offered to her, setting it aside since they'd reached a mutual and silent agreement that they were done with studying for now. "Kind of," she shrugged a shoulder, "I mean I used to get in fights a lot. Hurt some people pretty bad but it was mostly self-defense. Or defense against stupidity. Mostly dudes running their mouths, or putting their hands where they weren't welcome."

Rachel was watching her with marked interest, and Santana tried not to get pulled into the warm brown eyes. It was hard not to though, with Rachel chewing lightly on a pink bottom lip, seeming completely focused on Santana. Santana, with all her bravado and badass, had never been the center of attention. She made noise then got out of there as soon as possible, usually. So needless to say, it was weird sitting across from Rachel Berry and having the girl totally interested in what she was saying.

"Never any serious trouble. It's not like I feel like I gotta prove anything to anyone." That was kind of a lie, but she glanced away as she said this. "My _abuela _has raised me since I was little. That's why I'm doing this. I know it hurts her to see me slipping. My education is everything to her, and she's busted her ass to give me this chance. I guess I'm just realizing I don't wanna fuck this up, if only to make her proud." It was more than she'd explained to anyone. She was a little embarrassed at the admission. She shrugged and smirked, "I mean it's whatever, man." The statement was filler, trying to play off the depth she'd just shown.

When Santana looked up, Rachel was watching her with a contemplative and compassionate look. The brunette had a quiet and sweet smile hinting at her lips, and Santana narrowed her eyes. Rachel laughed sweetly, tucked hair behind her ear and looked down at her own fidgeting hands, "I think that's sweet," Rachel nodded, brown hair bobbing a little. "You're doing the right thing. And I'm glad I can help."

She was so sincere it was hard not to believe her. As the girls finished up their quiet conversation, Santana spotted the time and gathered her things. "I should get going," she murmured softly, feeling uncomfortable at such genuinely compassionate attention.

The Cheerio's face flickered with the play of disappointment, to Santana's surprise. However, she lead the Latina downstairs and to the front door.

"Would you… would you like to come over tomorrow night?"

Santana, caught off-guard, scoffed, "Man, you're going to get sick of me."

"Is that a yes?"

The Latina chuckled, hid her blush in the shadow of the porch as she stepped outside, "Yeah. I could use the help, after all. Test coming up and everything," she lifted her bag as if to remind herself and Rachel why they were in this situation in the first place. They weren't friends. They weren't friends at all. Rachel was just being nice.

When Rachel reached across the threshold of the door and touched Santana's arm, Santana's mind fell silent. "We can do this. I know we can. And your grandma will be proud of you by the time we're finished."

The Latina offered a smile in the dark, "Thanks."

As she was heading down the walk, she glanced back and saw Rachel standing with her arms folded in the dark, waiting on the porch as if to be sure Santana would get home safely.

It was that image of Rachel's silhouette that appeared in Santana's dreams that night, like a memory. It was hard not to be swayed by the Cheerio's charisma and seemingly genuine compassion. No matter how hard-shelled Santana tried to be, Rachel had cracked her open (just a little bit) in just one study session.


	2. Sleepovers and Night Terrors

**Pairing:** Rachel/Santana

**Synopsis:** (2 of 8) Rachel is HBIC. Santana is all-around badass and delinquent. Both are hiding behind their persona. Can they reach one another?

**Author's Note:** I'm glad this story is so well received! I want to thank everyone for reading, commenting, letting me know what you think. It's a bit of a challenge to write so far outside of my box when it comes to Rachel's character, so I hope you all can be patient with me. Lyrics from this fic are from Esperanza Spalding's "Precious."

###

**TWO**

_You always wanted something more from my body_

_And said you needed something more from my loving_

_But all you got was me and that's all that I can be_

_I'm sorry if it let you down_

_Now it's no nice excuse but all the magic was used_

_Up on trying to uphold_

_Some kind of tame, flattering persona_

_That soon enough was getting real old_

_It takes more than pressure to change rock to diamond_

_Now all you have is sand,_

_Slipping through your fingers._

###

Santana sat outside, her ankles swinging back and forth as she stared at the ground beneath her. Just as she was contemplating seeing if she could land the thirty-foot drop without breaking something, she heard a voice behind her.

"Don't do it," Rachel's voice was at this point vaguely familiar in its warm tones. "Or I'll have to find one of the male Cheerios to catch you."

The Latina chuckled deep in her throat. She turned her head, spotted the shorter brunette walking step-by-step up the stadium seating. "Yeah, I'd break you," Santana couldn't help the double entendre, gloating inwardly at the blush that crept up Rachel's neck and into her cheeks.

They'd agreed to meet here and then walk from the grounds to Rachel's house. Still, it was weird thinking that they were voluntarily meeting up with one another, and Rachel had seemed almost eager about it. Santana began to stand, but almost lost her balance; Rachel's hand gripped the Latina's arm to steady her, a waft of perfume reaching the Latina. Grumbling an embarrassed 'thank you,' Santana moved down the seating, crawled over the gate and hopped down. Climbing over things this way was just a habit of hers – from sneaking in and out of anywhere she could. Rachel, however, didn't seem to be as accustomed to climbing over things.

It was almost comical the way Rachel tried to lift herself over the fence, because she fell back a little and caught her balance. Santana tried not to laugh, and instead motioned for Rachel to back up.

The Latina hopped over the fence, "I had no idea how short you really were," she teased quietly as she lifted Rachel by the hips and helped her climb over.

"Well most of us are used to using gates and doorways."

"Sometimes a window is the only option," Santana dropped to the ground next to Rachel, grabbed her bag, and headed downfield with the brunette. "Shit goes down, you gotta get out. Or in."

Next to her, Rachel scoffed, "Drop it," she murmured, "all that talk. Like you're some … I don't know. You try so hard to be this rebellious person."

In the corner of her eye, Santana saw her usual crew hanging along the edges of McKinley property, ever watchful. They'd been a little heated that Santana seemed to be dropping them so quickly. To them, it probably looked like she was trying to fit in and gain some kind of social credit by being seen with Rachel Berry.

"I bet inside you're just like me," Rachel mused and glanced over, drawing Santana's attention again.

Santana scoffed, "Don't kid yourself."

"Like that's a terrible thing?"

"To pretend to be perfect for everyone else?"

Rachel seemed a little taken aback by this. She gaped at Santana momentarily, long enough for Santana to continue.

"I mean, I'm sure underneath all that," the Latina motioned at the Cheerio uniform, and picked at the red scrunchie holding up long dark hair, "there's a normal person with flaws."

"I never said I didn't have flaws," Rachel challenged, arms folding over her chest. Santana seemed to have touched a raw spot, some vulnerability in Rachel. She dug it. She wanted to see who Rachel really was – not the pretty princess she showed everyone else. In more ways than one, she wanted to get under Rachel's skin.

Santana smirked a little bit, "I bet you have some dirty little secret. Something nobody knows. Something that you're afraid will make you unperfect and then you'll lose your social standing."

Rachel rankled, "_Im_perfect. Imperfect, not _un_perfect."

"Okay, Hermione."

"I don't do things for social standing. At least not everything."

"Why the fuck does it matter? Why do you want everyone to love you?"

"For all the same reasons you want to make everyone think you're this inaccessible badass."

"Checkmate," Santana grumbled and shuffled her feet along the ground momentarily, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Look , I'm not trying to pick a fight."

"I know." Rachel didn't seem the least bit bothered by the spirited debate. Instead, her face was alight with a kind of subtle, secret smile.

Secretly, Santana liked that she was the one who'd made her smile. The Latina chewed on her bottom lip, averting her gaze away from Rachel's penetrating eyes. The Cheerio wasn't shy about looking at Santana, at least not here, when it was the two of them. In public, she pretty much ignored Santana unless it was to tell her what a delinquent she was. The thought was like a dark cloud. Okay, normally she didn't give a shit about what anyone thought. Secretly, it made her a little bummed that Rachel just might think she was somehow 'less-than.'

"For the record, I think you're probably a very warm and wonderful person underneath all the … " Rachel waved her hands in some kind of gesture, "leather."

Santana laughed, shook her head.

"Here we are," Rachel motioned forward and allowed Santana to be the first to approach the house. She touched the Latina's back as she shuffled in front of her to unlock the front door. "My dads won't be here until later this evening. They both work most of the time."

Santana nodded simply, feeling a weird pang of butterflies in her stomach. It was a quick feeling, there and gone as she stepped over the threshold. This looked like a house where she shouldn't wear her shoes past the foyer, so she unlaced her military-grade boots and left them by the front door, trotting up the stairs after Rachel.

"If you get hungry later, I can make us something. We're…well my dad Hiram and I are vegans. Daddy isn't though, so we have normal food. I assume you're not a vegan."

"Good assumption," Santana mumbled, then gave an apologetic grin when Rachel turned to give her a very specific kind of look. "Weirdos like you are vegans," she teased, satisfied when Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Here we are," Rachel tossed her bag on her bed. Rachel's bedroom was a mixture of gray tones and gold tones, with stars here and there. Numerous trophies lined the walls, a stack of books on the desk, and an all-together tidy appearance.

Santana's room was a disaster compared to this. Rachel probably didn't even have a stash of weed anywhere. Rachel had probably never even _tried _weed.

"So I'm not totally sure where you want to start," Rachel was facing her closet, sweater coming off perfectly muscled shoulders. It was a little distracting because Santana watched the fabric move off of those shoulders and thought it would be nice just to press her lips right … _Stop it. _Santana cleared her throat and sat on the bed, glancing at the pictures on the wall. "You're having trouble in – "

"Every class," Santana answered simply. "I mean, I learn quick and all. So I'm not stupid or anything like that."

"You just don't pay attention," Rachel was standing in front of her, changed into a tank-top and jeans, and she snapped two fingers to get Santana to stop staring at the wall. Santana bared her teeth a little, narrowed her eyes.

"Yes, mother."

"I'll be worse than that," Rachel joked, sitting on the bed and folding both legs underneath her. She held out an empty hand. Santana stared dumbly before Rachel sighed, "Your books." She grabbed Santana's bag and opened it up.

It took everything in the Latina not to jump at the bag. She kept a few things in there that were private. She had a sketch pad and a journal full of different writings. Luckily Rachel only grabbed the couple text books and sat back, opening up both of them.

"Show me where you're at, or where you've left off."

Santana turned the books to the front covers.

Rachel looked a little in disbelief, then sighed, "We've got a lot of work to do."

###

Santana was laying back on Rachel's bed, listening to the sound of Rachel's humming as the brunette wrote notes for Santana to study at home. It was a quiet, beautiful sound, and it lulled Santana into a sense of stillness. The Latina felt the curious urge to ask Rachel to _really _sing, but thought it might seem strange. So she settled for watching Rachel from the corner of her eye, taking in every moment.

She never thought she'd be here, even though it was just as the Cheerio's 'student.' Rachel's room smelled sweet and subtle from candles that were half-burned everywhere. The lighting was just dim enough to be relaxing. And Rachel herself was a sight when she wasn't aware she was being watched. Her long brown locks fell over her shoulders, no matter how many times Rachel habitually brushed her hair back behind her ears.

"You're staring," Rachel murmured, mid-hum, and her dark brown eyes lifted just enough to catch Santana in the act.

Santana cleared her throat and sat up, "Yeah, sorry, spacing out. Your room…it's really relaxing."

"I like it that way," Rachel responded, shifting as if to ease tension in her back. "School can be very draining."

"I can imagine. When you're trying that hard to be … I don't know, everyone's dream girl."

Rachel scoffed, "I am nobody's dream girl."

"Please! I know some people who'd tear off their arm just to see what you look like in a bra." She neglected to mention that she was one of those people.

Blushing, Rachel glared at her, "I appreciate the sentiment," she countered softly. Her eyes fell to the paper again and seemingly satisfied with everything she'd written, she flipped the paper back and forth the proofread before setting it aside. She was beginning a second study guide. "You weren't spacing out."

Santana glanced aside, ran fingers through black hair, and smirked. "You wish."

If she wasn't mistaken, Rachel was smiling a little. Her nose wrinkled a little when she smiled big enough.

"So tell me something no one else knows," Santana leaned back against the headboard, hands folded behind her head. She stretched out, a leg on Rachel's right side. She bumped Rachel's knee with her foot.

Rachel laughed softly, "Right. Because I should definitely divulge my secrets to you."

"Why not? I have no friends."

"You have that little gang of yours. If I told you anything," Rachel stopped what she was doing, glanced up at Santana and held her gaze, "you would probably take it back to them and you'd laugh about it. I know what you think I'm like. I'm just a nerd, a socialite."

Santana felt the slight sting of Rachel's words, brow creased for a moment, "Man, you must not think much of me."

The brunette in front of her chewed on her lip thoughtfully, "Sorry. I guess I just don't expect people like you to … think very highly of me, either."

"Dude, I mean… Rachel, you don't have to be defensive with me," Santana answered almost moodily. "I'm not a bad person and I certainly don't laugh at people." That was sort of true. She didn't actively make fun of people, though she did sometimes judge other people without really intending to.

Rachel held Santana's gaze a little longer, and disappointingly said nothing. She continued writing. Santana felt restless in the sudden discomfort of being wounded by Rachel's assumptions.

"I'll tell you one thing if you tell me one thing," Rachel's words were soft and came more than a few minutes later, when Santana had gotten up to walk around the room and look at the brunette's pictures. Pictures with friends, family, fellow Cheerios, people giving her awards.

Santana turned, sat down on the bed at Rachel's side, her back to Rachel. "Fine."

"I have night terrors," Rachel's confession was quiet, and surprising.

"You do?"

"Since I was young."

"About what?"

"Everything and anything," the brunette glanced beside her; her shoulder was warm against Santana's. The Latina leaned aside and tried brushing away the tingle crawling up her arm. "Your turn."

"I can sing," Santana offered, not wanting to weight the conversation down anymore. "Not as good as you, and not the same way, but I can sing."

Rachel seemed to light up at this, her brown eyes glistening with a kind of joy. "You can?"

Santana nodded, trying to suppress a smile at Rachel's excitement.

"Sing to me," Rachel requested, and it was so soft that it made Santana's heart race. There was a kind of intense sincerity in the Cheerio's voice. Her hand caught Santana's arm just as the Latina was about to shift away in embarrassment. She didn't even have to say _please _because the way she rooted Santana to the ground.

"I don't even know what to sing."

Apparently Rachel was too excited to continue doing her tutoring duties, because she set aside the books and notebook and hopped off the bed. She bounced a little on her way over to her iPod dock. "What do you normally like to sing?"

"God, that's embarrassing," Santana laughed and buried her head in her hands.

"Come on!" Rachel clapped her hands, grabbed the Latina's hands in her own and tugged her up. "Pick something. Anything."

Feeling butterflies and embarrassment, Santana groaned softly, gave a pleading look to an unflinching Rachel. She caved, tapping her way through Rachel's iPod selection and finally coming to an artist she listened to a lot. Adele. She was almost embarrassed to play the _song _because that meant Rachel would know that she listened to _gasp _**popular**_** music. **_She wasn't all punk rock all the time.

Santana laughed in her nervousness. "Fine, fine, but two things: do not make fun of this selection and don't say a _word._"

Rachel made a zipping motion over her lips, and then grinned. The brunette sat down, folded her hands between her knees as if she could barely contain her excitement.

She'd chosen "Melt My Heart to Stone" by Adele, and as the melody began, she breathed out her nerves. She closed her eyes, because _madre los dios, _she could not bear someone watching her while she sang. Santana never sang in front of anyone and she must be fucking nuts to sing in front of Rachel Berry, who was perfection when it came to … a lot of things.

"_Right under my feet is air made of bricks, it pulls me down turns me weak for you; I find myself repeating like a broken tune, and I'm forever excusing your intentions, and I give in to my pretendings which forgive you each time, without me knowing, they melt my heart to stone._

_And I hear your words that I made up; you say my name like there could be an us. I best tidy up my head. I'm the only one in love; I'm the only one in love."_

The Latina didn't continue past the first round of lyrics, mostly because she was feeling nervous as hell and Rachel really _hadn't _said anything so maybe she was in fact a terrible singer and her friends had been lying to her when they'd told her she was pretty good. So Santana stopped, the song continuing on in the background as she opened her eyes. She wanted to die of embarrassment.

Only Rachel looked in awe. She looked like she was _glowing. _"Santana," she breathed the Latina's name in a way that made Santana speechless. The shorter brunette practically flew forward, throwing her arms around Santana's waist. "That was beautiful."

The Latina's arms hung limply at her sides in shock until Rachel's warmth sunk in, feeling the brunette's body pressed against her own, fingers pressed into her shoulder-blades. She didn't get … hugged, a lot, so this was a new feeling. She didn't know exactly how to react, so she let her impulses take over. Or, her secondary impulses because she pretty much wanted to cop a feel at this point. Her brain was blank. Her hands settled on Rachel's back, patting there softly and a little awkwardly. "Uh, thanks."

Rachel laughed, stepped back. "God, I've never heard. I mean, that was wonderful. Why have you never gone out for glee? Why haven't you ever sang?"

"I don't like singing in front of people," Santana answered dumbly, feeling the rush of cold as Rachel's warmth left her. "It's not my thing."

Rachel was watching her eyes with a kind of rapture, and Santana began to feel bashful. She sat down on Rachel's bed and fiddled with the notes Rachel had been writing for her. "Anyway, you told me yours so I told you mine."

The weight shifted on the mattress as Rachel sat next to her. The warmth of a hand touched Santana's, gently pried the fingers upward and were grasped in the Cheerio's soft palm. Santana felt her hand being tugged gently and pressed near Rachel's stomach, which hitched with breath still reacting out of awe. "It's such a talent. I mean, music is… it's my one escape, my one private place where all of me can spill out and I'm not thinking about what other people are thinking. And I just, I didn't imagine you had that .. much soul in your voice. Thank you for sharing."

Santana chuckled, bashful but trying to lighten up the mood, "Hey, it's cool. I mean I just sang a couple verses or whatever."

Rachel smiled quietly, but Santana felt every glance in her direction. The way the girl was looking at her made her feel all at once solid and real, like a person with a heart and soul. She wasn't an image, wasn't an archetype.

It was a lot to take in.

Rachel eventually let go of her hand and went back to writing notes, shifting just enough to give Santana room to relax. The brunette was grinning the whole time she was writing, and sometimes her eyes would flicker up to search Santana.

By the end of the night, Santana felt like a thirteen year old boy discovering boobs for the first time. When she said goodbye to Rachel and headed home, she even skipped a little. Just a little.

###

"I want you to stay the night with me Saturday," Rachel practically bowled Santana over in the hallway, breaking from her pack and grabbing Santana's arm like it was a life-raft. "Please."

Santana arched an eyebrow, saw scrutinizing looks all around them at the odd pairing – Most Likely to Be Imprisoned and Most Likely to Go to Hollywood. She cleared her throat and disengaged her arm, feeling small and insignificant. "Are you sure your public will like that?" The Latina was practically crawling into her locker. She felt an insistent hand on her elbow.

"I don't care what they think. I told you, I'm not who I am for them," Rachel's words were a little softer now, her head leaned in close to Santana's shoulder. Her fingers had a tight grip on Santana's arm, just enough to make the point that she _really _wanted Santana to look at her.

The Latina swallowed, forced her gaze to look at the girl beside her. "Yeah."

Rachel hopped a little in joy, squeezed Santana briefly before running to catch up with the rest of the Cheerios. Santana didn't miss the curious and unfriendly looks from the people Rachel normally spent her time with.

After all, she was only meant to be tutored by Rachel. When did it become a friend agreement?

Why would Rachel want to be friends with her?

When it finally sunk in what she had agreed to, Santana felt a little sick with nerves.

What the hell did you bring to a high school slumber party?

###

She showed up with a raggedy military bag with pajamas (sweatpants and a t-shirt, she wasn't complex) and a pillow (just in case she ended up on the floor). Santana couldn't have felt more awkward.

Rachel opened the door with a beaming smile and a clap of her hands. She grabbed Santana by the wrist before she could even get a "hi" out. Santana realized, as she greeted the Berry men as she was being dragged up the stairs, she hadn't asked whether or not this was just going to be them or Rachel and her friends. Relief swelled as she saw an empty bedroom and not a pack of Cheerios waiting to criticize her.

The Latina dropped her bag by the door and stood there for a moment, not sure what the protocol was. She'd been to slumber parties when she was a kid but she assumed it was sort of different. Then again, maybe it wasn't.

Rachel motioned to Santana, "Sit down," the shorter brunette was tugging on a hoodie and changing into cutoff sweats. There was a flash of tan skin that made it hard not to get caught ogling. Santana sat on the bed and reclined against the headboard.

"So what do you do at a high school slumber party?"

The brunette laughed as she pulled her hair out of the hoodie and let it fall over her shoulders. "You've really not had a sleepover?"

"Not since I was six," Santana arched an eyebrow, "and we're past playing 'tea party.'"

Rachel grinned in a sympathetic kind of way, "Movies. Popcorn. Conversation."

"And these are things you want to have with me?" She was, after all, still a little bewildered that the Cheerio had invited her to sleep over in the first place.

The brunette rolled her eyes in response and lay on her back, her head near Santana's torso, brown eyes looking up at her, "You don't want to have them with me?"

Santana inwardly hissed. The girl was clever after all. The Latina smirked softly in response, eyes wandering away from Rachel for a moment.

Beside her, Rachel laughed quietly in a way that said she _knew _Santana wanted to be here. And Santana damned her in her head, for being clever and observant and shit.

"We couldn't be any different from one another."

"Is that what you think?" Rachel sat up, folded her legs beneath her and watched Santana curiously.

"I mean you're … "

"Don't say it."

"Miss Perfect."

"Then what are you?"

"I'm nobody," Santana answered without giving it much thought. Only after the response left her lips did she realize how damn _depressing _that sounded.

Rachel was frowning at her, and she reached over to touch Santana's wrist. Her fingers wrapped around the skin there, holding on for a moment. The brunette looked like she wanted to say something, to assure Santana she wasn't a _nobody._

Santana smirked and waved her free hand dismissively, "I mean. Compared to you, I'm nobody. I didn't mean that in a like… I'm gonna hurt myself kind of way."

Rachel's eyebrows arched in surprise and she let go of Santana's wrist, then touched Santana's jaw. Santana's heart jumped against her ribs. "You're somebody," she spoke softly, and as her thumb grazed Santana's cheek, the Latina felt all her words leave her.

When Rachel's hand fell away, she let out a throaty chuckle, "You know what I meant."

"Mmhm," Rachel scrutinized before climbing off the bed. She handed Santana a pile of movies. "You pick the first one."

So they sat there like normal teenagers, watching movies and commenting about how good Meryl Streep could sing. They got through _Mamma Mia! _and _Rocky Horror Picture Show _before they decided to get popcorn. Santana trotted down the stairs after Rachel, spotting both Berry men in the kitchen in pajamas. She gave a small nod to both men as she was introduced formally. She shook both their hands firmly, smiling a little at their warmth.

Rachel was chatting away as she popped the popcorn, and Santana felt a strange sense that this place was familiar to her. It was as if this was a place she was supposed to be, surrounded by Rachel and her fathers, listening to normal family conversation and being treated by a peer as if she was their real friend.

It was a feeling Santana was unaccustomed to, but the Latina felt at ease. She carried the popcorn upstairs for Rachel, because the shorter girl was double-fisting sodas for them both.

"First memory," Rachel asked as they half-paid attention to the movie.

Santana raised her eyebrow, "I guess, being in the airport. My grandpa was coming back from the service and I was like.. six I guess."

"Is that whose boots and bag you wear?"

Santana nodded her head, downing a fistful of popcorn.

"You?"

"Daddy taking me to the park for the first time. I fell and scratched my knee, and I was crying, so he held me and sang to me until I felt better."

"And that one is?"

"Leroy."

Santana nodded. "What it's like, growing up with two dads?"

"I don't know. I mean, I _know _what it's like but I don't have anything else to compare it to. It's … like always being protected. And they're both really nurturing, they've always wanted me to do whatever I was passionate about, like when I wanted to take synchronized swimming when I was seven."

Santana laughed, "Jesus, thank God that phase didn't last."

Rachel nodded in agreement, snorting with laughter, "The outfits …"

"Must have been worse than what you wear now." Santana winked, earning a snort from Rachel and a playful shove to her shoulder.

"You don't really talk about your family," Rachel mused curiously as she lay next to Santana, leaning up on her elbow and turning her gaze upward to where Santana sat.

"It's complicated."

Rachel nodded.

"Hey," Santana swallowed impulsively, hands stalling in their digging through the popcorn, "can I ask…"

Her interest piqued, Rachel sat back up and shifted her body to face Santana and not the television.

"Why do you want to be friends with me?" It was the most honest question Santana had asked.

Rachel seemed to chew on the question thoughtfully, taking her time to answer, "I guess it's … just something I felt like I needed in my life. Someone who … wasn't afraid to challenge me, who wasn't afraid to be vulnerable or wouldn't take advantage of my vulnerability."

Santana nodded.

"You seem to understand me without saying anything. I can't explain it. You just … when you were looking at me the other night – " Rachel grinned, "because I know you weren't spacing out. You were watching me like you wanted to know me. Like you wanted to know who I really was and … I just, felt I needed that around me."

The Latina felt a flush of warmth come to her cheeks, and she waved her hand a little, placing the popcorn between them, "It's all in your imagination," she teased quietly, her way of averting any actual compliment or warmth.

Rachel smiled in a warm way, and when Santana finally met her eyes, she found a stunning acceptance in Rachel's eyes.

"Don't get mushy on me," she warned playfully.

Rachel laughed in response. "You asked," she replied with a subtle grin.

Santana watched the smile with fascination, "You smile a lot."

"Around you," Rachel's tone softened, and her expression became serious for a moment. It was enough to make Santana's brain dump out every possible response and leave her with nothing.

###

Time went by so fast that Santana had to do a double-take when the clock read 3:37am. She never stayed up this late if drugs weren't involved, or some kind of party. Beside her, Rachel was about ready to doze off.

The Latina got out of bed, pulling out her pajamas and disappearing into the bathroom. It was immaculate in there, again reminding Santana that she was a slob compared to Rachel. When she came back in, Rachel had tucked herself under the covers and left enough room for Santana to crawl in bed. She put her pillow on the bed, crawled under the covers and watched the T.V. flip through various music stations before Rachel settled on something mildly soothing.

The light went off shortly after, Rachel collapsing back into bed. They talked quietly in the dark with one another, teased one another like old friends, and when Santana rolled over on her side she didn't expect to fall asleep so quickly. Fall asleep she did.

That is until she woke up to the sound of Rachel screaming in terror. Night terrors. Shit. Santana panicked, not sure what to do. She'd heard you weren't supposed to wake sleepwalkers 'cause they could get violent. Was that like this? She flipped on a light and saw Rachel bathed in a cold sweat, eyes wide.

She caught a flailing arm and quickly began smoothing her hand over Rachel's back. The shorter girl quivered in her arms. What in the hell did she _dream _about when she woke up screaming like that? Santana hushed her gently, hoping she wouldn't get hit in the face.

When Rachel came to, she didn't seem to realize what had happened. She looked surprised to find herself being held by Santana, but her fingers clutched at the Latina and she buried her face against Santana's collarbone. "I'm sorry. This is why I usually don't have people over."

She'd trusted Santana enough to have her over, to let her see this part of her. "Hey, it's fine," she whispered quietly, pulling Rachel back into her arms. "You okay?"

"Now I am," Rachel held to her tightly. "I think." She was practically shivering, and it was enough to make Santana lean down and meet her face-to-face, brushing her thumb over Rachel's cheek. There was a distant fear in Rachel's eyes as she looked at the girl.

"Yeah, you're alright," Santana assured her, and forgot all pretenses as she held that gaze, stroking her cheek and eventually tugging her back into her arms. "I've got you."

The feeling of Rachel clinging to her was … one of those oddly familiar things. It was something she liked. Eventually she coaxed Rachel to lay down, the light still on just in case the brunette got scared. The shorter girl wrapped her arm around Santana's torso and buried her face against the Latina's neck. "Don't let go," Rachel whispered against Santana's neck.

Santana felt herself melt into those words, and as she hummed to Rachel, she wondered what the warm stirring in her chest was as the words replayed in her head.


	3. Bonds Sealed in Blood

**Pairing:** Rachel/Santana

**Synopsis:** (3 of 8) The friendship between HBIC Rachel and Untouchable leader Santana is blossoming. Both are pleasantly surprised by the bond, but others are more than a little bothered by the friendship.

**Author's Note**: Lyrics in this story are from Esperanza Spalding's wonderful song, "Precious." I think the characters are developing as I want them to – it's not as challenging as I thought it would be when I started this little venture.

###

**THREE**

_But I'm not gonna sit around_

_And waste my precious divine energy_

_Trying to explain and being ashamed_

_Of things you think are wrong with me_

_I'm not gonna sit around_

_And waste my precious divine energy_

_Trying to explain and being ashamed_

_Of what you think is wrong with me._

###

Santana's first war wound came when Toad cornered her in the locker room and shoved her head into a padlock.

"So, you're buddy-buddy with the HBIC now huh? Too good for us?" Toad growled. She smelled foul, as if she hadn't showered in a while.

"Get your stinking ass paws off me, Toad," Santana drove an elbow into Toad's stomach. "She's tutoring me and besides, she's not a bitch and she never has been."

"Oh, you think you're somehow her friend? You think she'd defend you if I were to drag your sorry ass out into the hallway?"

"Shut the _fuck _up," Santana shoved Toad over the bench separating the lockers, the girl clattering against metal and then falling awkwardly in between the small space between the two. As Toad struggled to get up, Santana fought every urge she had to do further injury. Instead, she strode through the doors into the main hallway; it was crowded out there but it didn't mean she was any safer.

The problem was that Toad had a penchant for real _damaging _violence when she was pushed. And since Santana fought back, she was likely in danger of something more than a fist. She kind of jogged through the crowd but it wasn't long until Toad caught up with her. The girl was skinny but strong (unlike Squeak) and grabbed Santana by the hair, jarring the Latina backward and dropping her to the ground.

Her skull knocked hard against the marble and the crowd around them was just barely registering the action by the time Toad had clamored on top of Santana and was laying blow after blow to the Latina's face. Santana had her arms up over her face, so a lot of the blows only connected with her forearms, but she knew she was in trouble when Toad got off the ground, the weight of her body gone from Santana's awareness.

Toad followed with a kick to the base of her spine, circled her and nailed her with a hard-toed boot in the stomach. Another kick to the stomach, and Santana spat up blood.

"Fuck this," Santana grunted under her breath. She caught Toad's foot as it was mid-kick, yanked, and the girl fell to the ground. It was just enough for Santana to struggle up on to her feet. She was totally oblivious of the crowd at this point. "What, are you jealous that I have more than one friend? Jealous I'd rather be around her than around you two losers?" They had been a sort of inseparable gang. They operated by the rules they had all been taught by drug dealers and drop-outs.

Squeak was nearby, and Santana knew because she heard the recognizable sound of a switch blade. In the early days, they'd sworn each other in. To betray the group or leave the group meant pain – and Squeak and Toad were bringing it today.

This was all over who Santana was friends with, all because she'd left the Untouchables, all because she wanted to get better grades. It was laughable. Santana swung around just too late, because as she caught Squeak's wrist and caused her to drop the knife, Toad slipped between her legs, grabbed the knife, and Santana felt a surprisingly sharp sting in her thigh.

The teachers were a little too late as they broke the gathering; the teachers were totally unaware that Santana had been stabbed until the Latina passed out, a blurry image in her eyes of the floor rushing to meet her. When she came to, she was in the hospital and alone. She didn't like hospital's much.

Nobody came to visit her. Not that she should have expected anyone to. The doctors stitched her up and let her limp back to school. Somebody caught her in the hallway and said that the two girls had been dragged to the office. The rumor mill was busy – one rumor was that Squeak had been suspended and Toad had been expelled. Another said that they'd both been expelled.

Santana didn't see Rachel anywhere that day. And it bothered her to think that maybe Rachel had found out but hadn't really cared at all. She didn't get a phone call, didn't get a text, didn't get anything after-hours that would indicate Rachel knew anything about what had happened. And it's not like she was about to call Rachel and say, "Hey, by the way, I got stabbed today at school."

When classes got out, Santana lingered on campus, mostly because she didn't want to go home and partially because she was a little afraid to walk home. If Toad or Squeaks had gotten expelled, they had bigger plans for her than just a knife-wound. So she was lying on the bleachers, staring up at the sky and touching the area where she could feel her stitches. Even underneath her jeans they left a kind of bulging pattern.

She thought about Rachel's night-terrors, wondered if she had them every night. She thought about the strange way Rachel made her feel accepted and normal, redeemable. Then again, maybe something Toad said had been right – Rachel hadn't been there to defend her when she was getting her ass kicked. Nobody stepped in until it was too late. She hadn't seen Rachel's face in the crowd, but maybe there was an excuse.

Or maybe Santana was just a charity case.

Having distracted herself to the point of being able to leave the school property without fear, she was walking along the dimly lit sidewalks before she realized she wasn't walking toward _her _home. She was walking to Rachel's. She didn't know what she was doing here.

She knocked at the door anyway. She didn't know what she'd say. She thought maybe she'd open with, "Hey, craziest thing happened. I got stabbed." Then again that didn't seem like a great opener. She hadn't seen Rachel since the night she'd stayed over, and her grades were coming back up so they hadn't scheduled a tutoring session yet.

Another part of her just wanted to ask, "Where were you?"

She could have used a friend, or the knowledge that somebody watching the fight didn't want her to get hurt. The crowd of teenagers had been mostly cheering and hollering.

Hiram Berry opened the door, and he made a little sound of surprise, "Oh! It's … "

"Santana, Mr. Berry. I know it's kind of late, and I don't have a real uhm … I just," she took a breath, patted her leg over the stitches, winced in pain. "Something happened today that was pretty rough and I don't have anyone else to talk to."

"You wanted to talk to .." the older man trailed off his sentence, pointing a finger at his chest.

Santana laughed, a deep-throated chuckle, "No, sir. Rachel."

"Oh! Right, of course. Sorry, sipped a little too much wine tonight. She's up in her room," Hiram let her in and touched her shoulder. "If you need to, you can talk to me. I didn't mean to make it seem like I'm Mister Unavailable."

"Well you're not Dr. Phil either," Leroy called from another room. It made Santana laugh a little.

"I'll just –" she indicated the stairs before heading up them. She felt a little nervous as she approached Rachel's door. She really did wonder where the hell Rachel had been today. Hadn't she heard anything about what had happened? She hesitated, fist hovering over the door before she knocked.

Rachel opened the door, her look of surprise mirroring that of her father's. "Santana! Did we have .. did…why are you here?"

Santana raised an eyebrow and scratched the back of her neck, "I know we're not really close friends and all, but …"

"I'd like to think we are," Rachel answered, opening her door fully and motioning for Santana to come in. "I mean I know we haven't been friends long, or really spent a lot of time together, but," Rachel fiddled with the door handle before closing it behind Santana, "I'd like to think you're my friend."

Santana watched Rachel closely. Why did Rachel want to be friends with someone who associated herself with people like Squeaks and Toad?

Rachel was watching Santana with some concern. "Is everything okay?"

"No. I mean. Now it is, but I'm … were you in school today?"

"Only half the day, I left after my third class because I had an appointment. Why?"

"Did…uhm, any of your Cheerio buddies tell you about anything interesting that might have happened?"

Rachel shook her head, looking ever more confused as Santana fished for information.

"Wow. I guess the high school social network isn't as connected as it is in the movies," Santana observed wryly before she sat down.

"Did something happen?"

So Santana started unbuttoning her pants – mostly because she was tired of feeling like she was an awkward teenager and instead wanted to get back into her old role of being a badass who could give a shit about what people thought.

"Whoa! Santana, I don't think –"

"Shut up, Berry," Santana smirked simply and pushed Rachel onto the mattress, forcing her to sit down. She stayed in front of her and pulled her pants down past the thigh. "Look."

Rachel looked a little flushed, her mouth kind of gaping, before she outright gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth. "You … you must have at least thirty stitches!" The brunette's eyes filled with fear and she immediately leaned forward, touching them out of morbid curiosity.

Santana flinched, let out a hiss between her teeth, and a nervous chuckle. That last part was because a very pretty girl's fingers were near her thigh – her bare thigh. "Careful," she warned softly, before she pulled up her jeans again and fastened the button, zipped them up. "It was a parting gift from my old 'friends.'"

"What?" Rachel looked absolutely wounded and worried, "What do you mean?"

"Toad attacked me in the locker room. Smashed my head into a padlock. We fought and I mean usually I can hold my own, but by the time she caught up to me in the hallway, I didn't realize Squeaks was there, too. We fought some more and then that happened."

"But … how?"

"Toad stabbed me with Squeaks knife," Santana informed Rachel before sitting down on the bed.

Rachel looked flabbergasted, and reached over to touch Santana's arm. "Are you okay?

"Rachel, that's kind of a stupid question. I got stabbed. However, I am alive." Santana gave Rachel's hand an encouraging squeeze before letting go. "I'm a little shaken up. The problem is that the rules they live by mean retaliation. I got them suspended or expelled – rumor mill wasn't clear on that one – so now they'll be looking to get some kind of revenge for it."

"This is … this is Ohio," Rachel said by way of expressing bewilderment.

Santana laughed at the Cheerio, "Where cheerleaders win huge trophies and dance to 'Hey Mickey' and the worst kind of thing that happens is a cheer-off between two squads?"

Rachel scowled, "Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not. There are fucking mean people out there. I just happened to hang out with a couple of them. We learned what we learned for a kind of survival. And…that's like signing an oath, I guess." Santana rubbed her hand very lightly over her jeans, feeling the hint of stitches underneath.

"I'm so sorry," the brunette Cheerio sounded sorrowful. "Is there.. I mean is there anything I can do to .. keep you safe? I don't even know how this works."

Santana shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. You're off-limits to them because it'll be considered dishonorable to attack someone they didn't have some kind of bond with, so at least you're safe. I mean, they might not even do anything further, you know?"

"What if they do?"

"I'll deal with it."

"Not to sound like a terrible person, but why did you come here?"

Santana chuckled, "I don't know. I kind of just ended up here."

Rachel's arms wrapped around Santana from the side, and the shorter girl buried her face against Santana's arm. She was squeezing her as tightly as she could, and it made Santana smile. It took her a minute, but the raven-haired girl wrapped her arms around Rachel in return.

"Can we hang out more?"

Rachel laughed at the question, nodding.

"I mean, if I'm going to get stabbed for it –"

The Cheerio's face blanked, "They attacked you because you're hanging out with me?"

"Because I'm spending time with someone who isn't them, who isn't on the outside of everything," Santana tried to clarify but already she could see Rachel's chin quivering a little. "Hey," she grabbed Rachel by the shoulders, "if you start crying I'm going to be pissed," she half-smirked.

"Does that mean – "

"It does _not _mean it was your fault I got stabbed."

Rachel only nodded, still looking tearful. She touched the wounded thigh, running her fingers over Santana's jeans, before meeting Santana's dark gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up," Santana murmured simply and she wrapped an arm around Rachel's shoulders, tugging the girl's head down onto her shoulder and sifting her fingers through Rachel's hair. "How've you been sleeping?"

"Okay," Rachel responded. "I think."

A few more moments of silence fell between them, and as Santana was flattening a portion of Rachel's hair between her fingers, she spoke, "Do you think I could stay tonight?"

She didn't want to admit it, but getting attacked like that really had scared her. It might only have been a wound in her thigh, but deep in her gut she knew that her old 'friends' were capable of wounding her much worse.

Rachel nodded.

"I was kinda disappointed we didn't hang out after last time I was here," Santana admitted as Rachel pulled away from her to search for some pajamas.

The brunette hesitated at the dresser drawers, her back to Santana. "It's funny, I could have anyone I want over here, ask anyone I wanted and they'd be here in a second." Santana turned her gaze back to Rachel, "For some reason I felt like if I had asked you, you might have said no. And that bothered me. Isn't that strange?" When Rachel turned around, setting the spare pajamas on Santana's bed, the Cheerio met her eyes in a way that betrayed some slight vulnerability. "I guess maybe I worried … that the night terrors would make you think I wasn't the person everyone loves."

Santana chuckled, "Miss Popularity is worried about what I think?"

Rachel gave a brief shrug, "I guess it is kind of stupid."

"I should be the one worrying about that kind of shit," Santana stated simply before taking the clothing from the other side of the bed. "You're this person that everyone loves. You're kind to everyone and you pretty much could get anything from anyone. And yet you're choosing to have someone over who –"

"You're hiding from the world just like I am. We both bear the shame of wearing a mask, whether it's for good reasons or bad." Rachel, in moments like this, seemed wiser than her years. Santana was stilled, her eyes lingering thoughtfully on the shorter girl.

"I guess so."

"I don't feel ashamed of myself when I'm with you. I don't feel like I have to be what someone wants me to be," Rachel confessed.

Santana's brows knit together in thought as she met Rachel's eyes, then slowly a half-grin lit up her features. She ducked her gaze down, scratched the side of her neck, "I guess we have that in common."

The Cheerio's expression was genuinely thoughtful as she watched Santana. She seemed to be asking a question without asking anything; she took a slight breath and fidgeted with her shirt sleeves. "I really want to spend more time with you. I mean I know you already asked and everything but I just feel like you should know I didn't agree just because it's what popular-sweetheart Rachel would do," Rachel sat down on the bed, honey-brown eyes keeping Santana in her place, "it's what I want to do. I feel … comfortable when I'm around you."

Santana suddenly felt as if she were put under a magnifying glass – an ant burning up from a single ray of sunlight. Her expression sobered and she swallowed air before shrugging her shoulders, "I guess I do have that sort of charm," she said in a kind of dismissive way. As she took off her shirt, back to Rachel, and unstrapped her bra, she quickly slipped into the soft fabric of Rachel's Cheerio hoodie. She was less shy about changing into pants; when she turned around and slipped out of her jeans, she noted that Rachel looked flushed and was biting her lip a little bit.

Santana tried not to read too much into it. She slipped into the matching sweatpants and folded her clothes up in a pile, setting them on Rachel's desk chair. "So what do … people do when they hang out?" The question came out awkwardly enough for Rachel to laugh a little.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean the kind of friends I had didn't exactly stick to PG-13 activities," Santana clarified as she sat on Rachel's mattress, laying back against the headboard and watching the shorter brunette. Rachel twisted her torso just enough so that she could comfortably keep her eyes on Santana.

"What _did _you do?"

Santana chuckled. "Marijuana, for one. Two, alcohol was always involved. Three, there was some pretty –" she cleared her throat, "some relatively 'free love' goin' on."

Rachel blushed, nodded. "Well, I don't drink or smoke and I don't think I'm about to hop in the sack with you for fun."

"But it _would _be fun," Santana joked, noting the shade of red on Rachel's cheeks and neck grow darker. She nudged the girl with her foot. "It's a joke, Berry."

Rachel gave an embarrassed smile. "Well, last time we watched movies. And just kind of talked. Wasn't that okay, or did it bore you?"

Santana shook her head. She neglected to mention that for some reason, she didn't remember much about hanging out with Rachel outside of _looking _at Rachel. Especially when the Cheerio wasn't paying attention. "Not boring at all, short stack."

So they watched movies like normal teenagers. Both girls felt the freedom of their individual masks falling away when they spent time together, and that was something to treasure. Santana was just a little less sarcastic and Rachel was just a little less politically correct, and the thrill of being honest was something that seemed to put them in good spirits.

Later on in the night, when they'd worked through a stack of movies, they were laying lazily in bed beside each other, touching fingertips the way children might when comparing finger sizes.

"So why do you want everyone to love you?"

"Why do you want everyone to hate you?" Rachel countered.

"Because it keeps me safe. It means nobody gets inside and makes a mess of my head, or uses my weaknesses against me."

"But they're always looking at a shadow of you."

"And they're always looking at a shadow of you, Miss Congeniality," Santana turned her head to look at Rachel, her fingers caught midair and balancing against Rachel's palm. "You pretend not to have one bad opinion about anyone, pretend to care all about athletics, but then when you sing –"

"When I sing, I'm naked," Rachel's words were more of a whisper. "It's like if I were to let somebody see that, it would be the equivalent of letting them put their hands directly on my heart to feel the way it beats."

"Kinda grotesque image," Santana teased.

"It's like standing in front of somebody naked, blemishes and all, letting them judge me and make me into who they see. It gives them power over me, so I make sure nobody has power over me."

"And I do the same."

Santana met Rachel's eyes, the conversation going quiet for a moment. Honey-brown orbs stared at her, seemingly in thought. Santana took a quiet breath, felt Rachel's fingertips trailing over her wrist, "I've heard you sing."

"You weren't supposed to," Rachel reminded her.

"But you didn't freak out or anything."

"You heard me sing and you looked like … somebody in love. And obviously you're not, but when somebody looks at me like that, I know I'm safe."

Santana's eyes lingered, "I guess you're right," her words were a gentle murmur. "I mean, you are safe."

"I know," Rachel gave a subtle smile. There was a spark of intensity in the way they were matching fingertips and staring into each other's eyes.

It kinda scared Santana. So she lay her head back and closed her eyes, humming simply as if in thought, "When did you first start singing?"

Rachel didn't seem to notice Santana's avoidance of any kind of intimate connection. "When I was five. My daddy would play Cher and he came in the living room one day, and he'd find me singing along. I mean I was as good as a five year old could be, but then he enrolled me in singing lessons and from then on it was kind of my … hobby."

Santana nodded her head in acknowledgement. "Can I ask you something kind of personal?"

"Yes," Rachel answered with a surprising lack of hesitation. Santana could feel her eyes on her.

"Where's your mom? I mean I know your dads raised you, but somebody gave birth to you."

Rachel fell silent, her hand dropping away from Santana's, and folding itself into the other. "She was just ... like a surrogate. She had the option to have partial custody, my dads offered it but … she didn't want me," and even though Rachel smiled at this, it was the kind of smile that masked deep pain.

Santana sat up, leaning on her elbow, and found her hand covering Rachel's. Deep brown eyes searched honey-brown orbs. "I'm sorry, that's a raw deal."

Rachel nodded simply. "I know some things about her," she spoke softly, her eyes dropping away from Santana's but while she spoke, she slipped one hand over the top of Santana's so the Latina's hand was sandwiched in between her own. "She's a vocal coach at a really high-ranked school in New York, and apparently I look a lot like her. That's what Dad says."

Santana let her hand be held, trying not to wonder at the way she wanted to kiss Rachel, a way of soothing that deep feeling of loss one has when there's a parent who chooses not to be a parent. She didn't kiss her. She just listened, a somber expression on her face.

"It's not so bad. She sends child support just because, so I know she must care a little bit."

Santana knew the kind of silent questions Rachel was asking herself, _Why am I not good enough? Doesn't she want to know who I am? Doesn't she love me? _Santana didn't have answers for her, and Rachel wouldn't ask those questions. So Santana did the same thing she'd done for one of her cousins when his dad left him. She shifted down on the mattress, gently slipped an arm under Rachel's warm torso, noting the curve of her lower back and the angle of her hip, and wrapping the other arm just around Rachel's waist. Her hand skirted over warm skin, but she ignored all her wolfish impulses and simply let Rachel respond to the embrace.

Rachel tucked herself in Santana's arms, her fingers tangling gently in raven-black hair, and Santana could feel her breath against her throat. The Latina rested her head against the top of Rachel's.

Neither girl said anything. They remained that way until Rachel fell asleep, and as Santana was drifting off into sleep as well, she noticed that she never felt so comfortable as when she was holding Rachel Berry close to her.

###

Squeaks was back in school a week later and Santana felt a strike of fear every single time she saw the girl. Her now-healing wound would sting a little, the echo of past transgression. She was waiting for retaliation, waiting for something, but so far it hadn't come.

Then it did come, when she'd finally thought she was past the point of retaliation. The locker room. What a shitty place. Santana was pulling on her clothes when she felt herself shoved into a locker, head rammed against the metal. Her head throbbed painfully, and she didn't get a chance to defend herself before Squeaks was raining blow after blow to Santana's face. It was an oddly silent attack – just the sound of bone cracking against bone.

Santana's ears were wringing and her hands were going kind of limp; she was pretty sure that there was a trail of blood running from her nose because she tasted salted copper on her tongue. When she tried to push Squeaks away, she couldn't get her arms to work very well.

And then the beating stopped. It stopped because something very large hit Squeaks over the head and knocked the girl to the ground, seemingly unconscious.

"I'm not even sorry!" Rachel's voice was what Santana heard as she sank against the locker, and she saw a blurred figure standing over Squeaks. And then the Cheerio hopped over the bench and quickly gathered Santana in her arms. "Please tell me this is the last time you're going to get beat up," Rachel pleaded quietly with her.

Santana laughed, "I really hope so," her words slurred together and she felt cloth pressed over her nose. "I just…she kept smashing my face, man, I couldn't get it together, couldn't .. fight back. I'm usually so much tougher than that." She felt Rachel's fingers pressing as hard as they could on either side of Santana's nose.

Rachel's free hand was gingerly touching Santana's bruised cheek. "Sylvester's coming. She heard commotion and sent me in here. She said she was getting Figgins," she assured the downed Latina.

"You were kinda like a super hero. Didn't think you had it in you, Berry," Santana coughed into the cloth over her face.

Rachel laughed at her, "Well, I didn't think. I just reacted."

"It's almost like we're friends."

"Almost."

Even when Santana was losing a great amount of blood, she managed to realize that Rachel really was very pretty. Then she saw tears in the brunette's eyes. "Dude, don't cry, it makes you so much less badass."

"I'm not the badass, remember," Rachel murmured softly and sniffled, "I'm watching my favorite person bleed profusely after getting beat up."

"Yeah, I am pretty badass," Santana responded, words slurring a bit. She lifted a weak arm and wrapped it around Rachel, slowly resting her head on the curve of Rachel's breast and closing her eyes. "Thanks, Rachel."

Figgins arrived a moment later, with Sylvester ushering a gathering crowd away from the locker room doors. Santana spent the rest of the afternoon in the nurse's office, nursing a black eye and some minor injuries. Rachel stayed until Sylvester had pulled her up by the shirt collar and dragged her out of the office, lecturing her about Cheerios needing to be exemplary and punctual.


	4. Favors, Assurances

**Pairing**: Rachel/Santana

**Synopsis**: (4 of 8) Santana's aggressors have been nullified for now. With a little less pressure on the pair, maybe they can get around to enjoying one another's time.

**Author's Note**: Lyrics credit to Esperanza Spalding's "Precious." So this is becoming a favorite. That's all.

###

**FOUR**

_Now it's no nice excuse but all the magic was used  
Up on trying to uphold  
Some kind of tame, flattering persona  
That soon enough was getting real old._

###

It took Santana a decent amount of time before she could recover from the beating Squeaks had given her as a parting gift. The aggressor had been expelled and as far as Santana knew, charges had been pressed for both the stabbing and the beating. Her life was really starting to look like a regular soap opera. Her _abuela _had been sick with worry during the recovery, but in her older age she found it harder to care for her granddaughter.

The Latina had received a fractured arm and a bruised rib, and unfortunately this meant it was almost impossible to take a bath unassisted. She was off balance and unable to climb in and out without further injuring herself. Normally her nana was there to help her with it, but it was late one night and _abuela _had gone to one of the cousin's house a town away for some family business.

_I have a weird favor to ask. – S_

_Anything. – R*_

_Please just come over. Too embarrassing to text. – S_

So Santana chomped at the bit and waited downstairs, listening for any indication that Rachel had arrived. It was about 15 minutes before she heard the knock at the door. When the brunette came in, it took a large amount of courage before she could even ask Rachel what she needed to.

"I'm sorry. Abuela is out of town and I don't have anyone else. I can't .. I can't get in and out of the bathtub without hurting myself. We don't have a shower-head, just one of those claw tubs and I –"

Rachel, realizing what she was being asked, simply waved a hand and motioned in front of Santana. "Lead the way."

Santana did her best not to die from embarrassment, because dear _dios _this was a girl she found physically attractive and a friend and the only friend she had left, and she was asking her to help her in and out of the bath. Granted, she could take care of the bathing part but she couldn't climb in and out of anything right now. Her mind was full of chatter as she grabbed a towel and rag, stiffly closed the closet door, and headed into the bathroom. She was trying to figure out how to get by without letting Rachel see her totally nude but she decided that really wasn't going to happen quite the way she hoped. One way or another, Rachel would get an eyeful, especially since it was kind of hard to get her shirt off without a significant amount of pain.

"Tell me what I need to do."

Santana bit her bottom lip, expression a bit dark and troubled. "I don't –"

Rachel, seeming to sense the hesitation, stepped forward and touched Santana's waist, drawing the dark gaze to her own. "Hey, you can trust me. We'll make it as easy as possible, and I promise I won't look more than I can help," she murmured quietly. The former Untouchable noticed now that the bathroom door was closed and damn if this room didn't have some close quarters. Santana shifted, nodding a little.

"I need help with my shirt and stuff. My rib is cracked," she informed Rachel, using her good arm to start pulling her shirt up. She felt like maybe she should've turned around because being face to face with a very attractive Cheerio made this all the more embarrassing. She felt Rachel's fingers catch the fabric of her shirt, and as if afraid to break her, the Cheerio's process of removing Santana's shirt went slowly. Once that was done, Santana ignored the concentration and the mixed expression on Rachel's face and turned around. She felt her bra straps slip off – swearing to herself that if she got goosebumps at any point she was going to blame it on the air conditioning – and felt her bareness in full. She covered her breasts with her arm, slipped off her bottoms and tried not to think about Rachel's eyes on her.

She felt an arm loop around her back and support her evenly as she got into the warm water (it had been hot when she ran it but the time for Rachel to arrive and the time to get her clothes off had sapped some of the heat). After this, Rachel slipped out of the bathroom quietly. Santana took a little bit of time to soak after bathing, closing her eyes and breathing through the weird fluttering of nerves in her stomach when she thought about Rachel's hands on her skin.

All this just because of her decision to do better in school.

Getting out of the tub was a little more awkward. Luckily, when Rachel came in she helped Santana stand (eyes averted from meeting one another) and wrapped a towel around her. For just a moment, Rachel's warm body was pressed against Santana's and Santana swore she felt her breath hitch in her throat.

Santana was grateful that a week later, she was back to being able to get out of the bath by herself.

###

The Untouchable's assimilation from troubled student to unnoticed student was surprisingly quick. By the time Santana had gotten back (with her gang disassembled due to their expulsion), even Sylvester was leaving her alone for the most part. Granted, the older woman sometimes motioned to her eyes and glared at Santana but that was a lot better than her dragging the Latina to the office every day. Her detentions dropped, her grades were slowly getting better, and Santana even got quite a few surprised compliments from teachers. Typically they'd hand her back a report and with a mixture of suspicion and pride would say, "This is better than anything I've seen from you before."

The best part was thatAbuela was happy. She worried less and that really was the point of it all. It'd taken a bit of struggle to get there but she'd managed to make things work out.

Santana worried now, despite all reassurances, that she'd no longer have reason to continue spending time with Rachel Berry. And she had to admit, she really had a crush on the girl. Maybe it had started some time ago, but now it was all that stronger because she _knew _who Rachel really was now. They'd spent just enough time together to open up, to be vulnerable. That alone should have reassured her, but for someone who had struggled with self-worth issues, she felt no comfort.

"You're coming over tonight, right?" Rachel's voice greeted her at the end of the day. The Cheerio was absent her usual crowd, and her eyes shone especially bright at the sight of Santana.

"If you want me to," Santana smirked, mostly to hide her elation.

Rachel simply gave her a look that communicated what Santana should have known.

"I mean my grades are better now so it's not like you have to keep tutoring me," Santana mumbled into her locker as she gathered her things.

"Oh," Rachel's disappointment was thick. "I mean if you don't –"

"I do!" Santana barked a little too eagerly. Her hand had reached out and caught Rachel's, and both girls looked at the connection in surprise. "Sorry," she let her hand go, gently, "I mean, I just … "

Always the perceptive one, Rachel reached forward and took Santana's hand. The Untouchable glanced around, seeing no onlookers, and cast her eyes to their hands. It felt nice. Even though the affection was still slightly unfamiliar, Santana swallowed the butterflies fluttering at the base of her throat and squeezed Rachel's fingers gently. They met gazes and it held for more than a moment. "Just because you don't need me as a tutor it doesn't mean you've gotten rid of me," there was something heady and husky in her voice that made Santana ache low in her stomach.

"If you say so," the black-haired girl answered with a smirk and tried to hide her nerves. She locked her things up and threw her bag over her shoulder.

"What time will you come?"

"Probably 7. I have to eat supper with Abuela first."

Rachel nodded. As they started to part ways, she felt Rachel tug her back and felt an answering embrace as soon as she was going to ask what Rachel wanted. Rachel seemed to be lingering, and Santana found herself resting her head near Rachel's ear.

"You okay?"

"I'm glad you're back."

###

When Santana arrived, she saw neither of the Berry men parked in the drive-way. She knocked lightly on the door, hands later tucked into her pockets as she waited. Rachel answered a couple moments later, and Santana saw why. Rachel's hair was still damp from the shower and the brunette was only wearing a bathrobe.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel's words tumbled out. She was busily tying her robe shut. "I took a nap after school and just woke up, I wanted to shower and clean up before you got here."

"Don't apologize," Santana wanted to add _you've seen me naked _but she didn't feel like being embarrassed right now. She let Rachel pass and followed her up the stairs, guided by the trail of scented shampoo and perfume that followed the shorter brunette.

Rachel busied herself with getting dressed – shielded by her door – but just the thought of that bare olive skin made Santana feel things she shouldn't be feeling for friends. Normally she'd be all over that but there was something about Rachel that made her more important than some quick fuck. Santana wanted to do things with her that she didn't want to do with anyone else much less _admit _to anyone else. She wanted to _cuddle _with Rachel. The thought alone made Santana scold herself for being an unbearable wuss. "I'm really glad you came over."

"I kinda wanted to talk to you," Santana had realized over the course of the afternoon that honesty was the way to get what she wanted. She'd spent enough time before brooding about things, and the only way Rachel would know that Santana wanted her true friendship, her _lasting _friendship, was if she asked for it.

Rachel stepped out in boyshorts and a t-shirt, hair still damp (and sexy as fuck), and had a look of concern on her face. She looked like she was about to be let down or broken up with.

"It's nothing bad," Santana corrected quickly. "I just, I want us to be friends. I don't need a tutor anymore but – " _I don't think I can go a day without seeing you, _she thought, "I don't want to stop spending time with you. I don't know why and I guess I don't have to explain myself but look – I don't want to lose you. Or… your friendship I mean."

Rachel's expression softened, an answering smile, "Do you really think you have to ask me?"

_You make me feel insecure, _Santana wanted to say, but only glanced up to meet that understanding gaze.

"Santana," Rachel moved forward, her soft, warm hands encompassing Santana's face just long enough to draw her gaze directly. The brunette kneeled in front of Santana – a surprisingly intimate gesture – and was somehow positioned between her legs. Rachel's hands moved over Santana's neck, down her arms, and tangled with Santana's fingers in one natural, cascading motion. "Maybe I'm not being clear with you. Maybe I haven't been honest enough, I don't know."

Santana felt her heart fluttering nervously against her ribs, and squeezed Rachel's hands to stop Rachel from noticing that her hands were trembling. She wasn't used to all this sentimentality.

"You're my friend. And when I say you're my friend, I mean that in all the most important ways possible. I want you around as much as possible, whenever possible. You're beyond important –"

"Why?"

"Why am I important to you?"

Their mutual gazes spoke for them. It was obvious there was a magnetic draw that neither could control or understand right at the moment.

"I'm kind of happy that you and I get to spend time together outside of tutoring because that means we don't have to waste time on things we don't want to talk about," Rachel's smile was kind of secretive, her gaze enticing. Santana couldn't help but notice how intimately close Rachel was settled between her thighs.

She really wanted to kiss Rachel. A heady silence fell between them and slowly Rachel stood, her touch lingering for a few moments longer before the blushing brunette cleared her throat and let go of Santana's hands.

"So my point is," Rachel's voice seemed like it was fighting its low, aroused tones, "you're stuck with me."

Santana smirked a little bit. She remembered her threats early on in their relationship about putting her up against a wall and right now that seemed like a really hot idea, but despite her loins, she resisted and watched her with a quiet gaze.

"So, movie time?"

"You know it."


End file.
